Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(10)

Joan looked down at her hands—the hands that had stolen life yesterday. She’d always believed that too. Earnestly, like Nick. She wanted to be like that. She’d thought she was like that.

After that conversation with Gran, Joan had felt as if she was turning into something she didn’t understand. Now, talking to Nick, she wondered if there might be a way to find herself again. To just be Joan. Could she, even knowing what she was?

‘My dad always taught me that too,’ she said.

She told Nick about Dad and her extended family in Malaysia. About how she was an only child. And then—more tentatively—about being one of three cousins the same age when she stayed with the Hunts.

They talked for a long time. The conversation meandered from family to people at the house and then to anyone that occurred to them. When the words finally petered out again, Joan was relieved to find that the awkwardness was gone. The silence felt normal. Comfortable.

‘I don’t usually talk about myself this much,’ Nick said. He sounded uncertain, as though he was afraid he’d been boring her.

Joan leaned her head against the wall beside his. ‘I like talking to you,’ she said. She thought about how tentative he’d been when he’d asked her out. He was so good-looking. Movie star good-looking. There must have been people falling all over him at home, but he seemed as new to this as she was.

‘I like being with you,’ Joan said. ‘I—Nick, I really wanted to go on that date. I really wanted to. I got all dressed up.’ She wasn’t dressed up now, she realised wryly. She’d barely thought about clothes when she’d gotten up. She’d pulled on a dress over a tank top and bike shorts.

‘Yeah?’ Nick smiled, a little shy. ‘I got dressed up too. Not like a suit, but . . . there was a nice jacket.’

Joan turned her head to look at him properly. ‘Yeah?’ she echoed. The curators had put Nick in a Regency costume once, when one of the professional actors had been sick. The trousers had been tight around his thighs, the jacket straining around his muscled shoulders.

Joan heard the rhythm of her own breath change first. Nick touched her cheek and then Joan couldn’t breathe at all. She’d never kissed anyone before. Nick’s warm hand shifted to tilt up her head. She felt Nick’s shaky breath—a warm puff against her mouth. He was nervous too.

Joan’s breath caught as his mouth touched hers. Nick lifted up just enough to smile at her again. She smiled back. She suddenly didn’t feel nervous at all. She pushed her hands into Nick’s hair and kissed him. She felt warm and shivery all over. She shifted her weight, sliding her hands down to—

She jerked away fast, shocked at herself. She couldn’t touch his neck.

‘Hmm?’ Nick seemed dazed from the kiss. ‘Joan?’ Then he sat up a little, frowning. ‘Did you hear that?’

Joan registered it too then. Tires crunching over gravel. It was a sound she’d never heard here. Cars weren’t allowed this close to the house. Lights washed in through the windows.

Joan scrambled to her feet and so did Nick. The sun had started to set. How long had they been sitting here, talking?

There was a black car in the courtyard below. ‘I didn’t know they held functions here,’ Joan said. Three more cars were arriving. A distant warning bell went off in her mind. Where had she seen cars like that before?

Nick still seemed to be feeling the kiss. He took a deep breath, visibly gathered himself. His thick hair was rumpled from Joan’s hands. ‘We should probably go.’

Joan didn’t fancy gatecrashing anything either. Nick offered his hand. Joan hesitated, but took it. Touching hands was safe, she reminded herself. It felt good to touch him—an echo of the shivery feeling from the kiss.

‘We can go out the back way,’ Joan said. She led him up the library. ‘They won’t even see us. They’ll come in from—’

She stopped, staring through the open doorway.

In the passage outside the library, a man was stepping out of thin air with the casual stride of someone out for a stroll. He had shoulder-length black hair and a long, vulture-like face. He was half turned away from Joan. As his back foot appeared, he brushed at his suit with finicky care.

If he turned even a little, he’d see them. Joan squeezed Nick’s hand, willing him to stay silent. Willing him not to have seen what she’d seen. But Nick had. He was staring, eyes wide. The man had appeared out of thin air. Nick squeezed her hand back hard.

Those black cars. Joan remembered now where she’d seen cars like that before.

Two years ago, she’d arrived at Gran’s place for the summer and found a buzz of energy in the air. And not the usual buzz of good humour among the Hunts—the house had felt alive with tension.

‘The Olivers are in town this year,’ Ruth had explained to Joan. ‘Everyone’s on edge.’

‘What do you mean?’ Joan had said.

‘The Olivers,’ Ruth had said, as if Joan should know what that meant. When Joan had looked at her blankly, Ruth had added: ‘Another family of monsters. Posh gits who drive around in black Jaguars. They hate us and we hate them.’

‘Another family of monsters?’ Joan had said. ‘Monsters like us?’

‘Not like us,’ Ruth had said. ‘The Olivers are really bad. Cruel.’